


Expect the Unexpected

by CalicoNekoChi



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Historical, Historical Hetalia, I guess Romerica if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-24 02:14:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16630934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalicoNekoChi/pseuds/CalicoNekoChi
Summary: In May 1801, during the interlude between the Napoleonic Wars' Second and Third Coalitions heated battles, the new United States set out on an ambitious task: defeat the Barbary pirates. To do this, though, young Alfred F. Jones was going to need some help. However, no one would have expected the help he'd seek would be the Spanish-owned Kingdom of Naples and Kingdom Sicily.Setting: The First Barbary War (1801-5)





	Expect the Unexpected

If it wasn’t for the warm, humid journey, the first thing Alfred would have noticed when his ship docked in Messina would have been the humidity. The coastal city was vibrant in spite of the recently ‘ended’ war, although the locals barely seemed to turn an eye to the English-speaking foreigners. Even with about two decades separating his fledgling nation from its hard-fought independence, there was little to separate him and his people from any other English-speaker. Especially not to the Messinese, whose only exposure to English-speakers must have been from the British navy. As far as they were concerned, Alfred and his men were just another set of British soldiers, coming from an oddly less powerful-looking vessel.

The real first thing Alfred noticed was how everyone spoke. Their whole bodies seemed to haphazardly swing around while their arms flailed almost nonsensically. Body language seemed like a language all its own in Sicily. Their ever-changing expressions may have been yet another, too. The more Alfred observed, the more these unruly movements seemed to blend into a strange rhythm. Their bodies gestured and swayed like unsung songs, complementing their bouncing words – none of which Alfred could understand. Somehow, mundane tasks like stopping by small shops looked like a lively adventure. He couldn’t help but wonder what existing in such a bright world would be like.

He was routinely distracted by the smallest things the entire way to meet the Neapolitan King Ferdinand IV. Between his soldiers and Commodore Edward Preble, Alfred was routinely dragged back to reality and they, thankfully, avoided any unnecessary diversions in the unfamiliar city. King Ferdinand’s escorting forces seemed somewhere between pleasantly amused by the young nations antics and sporting expressions Alfred didn’t care to read too far into. They likely would have been significantly less amused if Alfred had actually managed to slip away under their noses.

Commodore Preble had likely lost count of how many times they’d already nearly lost their energetic young nation. And frankly, Alfred had, too. From the second they were in the thick of the city until the King’s temporary residence was in view, Alfred had had plenty more than his fair share of distractions and reasons to drift away; this ranged from delightful aromas of foods Alfred had never partaken in to children dancing about and playing. Although, even while being ushered into the secure residence, Alfred’s feet were tempted to dart away and start exploring.

The Medieval castle would’ve been interesting to explore, as well. Nothing about it carried the same lively spirit the city did, but the old architecture was something straight out of the various books Arthur had shown him growing up. Alfred could only assume the unseen rooms were also something out of a book.

He was only beginning to see why there was so much fuss over the Italian peninsula. Messina alone was warm and beautiful, full of delightful scents and sights. The people were animated and the language carried such a musical energy. Alfred was enamored, even for a brief time. This city was so different from any he’d ever been to before. The culture was a foreign entity he couldn’t grasp.

And the olive-eyed nation embodying this wonderful place sported one of the most aloof expressions Alfred had ever seen outside of paintings.

The teen silently stood tall at his monarch’s side, arms crossed behind his back and dressed in clothes all too similar to Alfred’s own upper class. They deep reds and beiges, overlaying an overall incredibly uncomfortable design. The teen wasn’t particularly tall or large, so the expansive jacket accompanying his tighter shirt and bottoms only made him appear so much smaller. Even his stylized brown hair didn’t quite fit on his awkwardly proportioned body. As a fellow teen, Alfred understood this dilemma far too well. However, the brunet was likely much older than he was.

“We are truly grateful for your time, Your Majesty,” Commodore Preble commenced once the floor was turned to him.

It was only then that Alfred realized he’d zoned out staring at his fellow nation. The brunet scarcely seemed to notice him passed his initial cursory glance. In actuality, he wasn’t regarding _anyone_. Alfred watched the teen’s gaze waver every which way in the room, then noticed how often his feet rolled so his ankles momentarily reached for the floor. He lacked any energy Alfred was familiar with. If nothing else, the brunet came off as uncomfortable, perhaps a tad agitated.

More than once, Alfred found himself tilting his head to the side. Everything from the way the brunet slightly swayed when he tried to remain still and the silent movement of his lips as he no doubt spoke in his head was picked up on. Even the sharp crack in his voice when he finally said, “My name is… Italy Romano. Lovino Vargas. Io… I am the King…mmm… dom of… Naples and the Kingdom… of Sicily.” in such a heavily accented voice that Alfred almost didn’t realize he was speaking English.

“Lovino Vargas,” Alfred instinctively repeated.

Unfortunately, _aloud_.

Lovino blinked and stared at him for the first time since he’d arrived. His thin brows furrowed and his eyes narrowed, which somehow tugged a bright smile out of Alfred. “ _Che cosa_ … What do you want?” he asked slowly.

Alfred paused, letting his own posture raise up and his arms glue to his sides. “Tripoli has declared war on my country. We have come seeking naval aid in our fight against the Barbary States,” he mustered.

He hadn’t quite expected Lovino’s expression to sour, at least not so soon. In retrospect, it made sense. The War of the Second Coalition had just ended a few months ago and all of Europe was likely fatigued. Francis appeared invincible with Napoleon Bonaparte steering his armies and leading the crusade of peace treaties. Lovino was more than slightly lucky to even be standing there without a Bonapartist leader or complete occupation.

“Spain is _con_ … with France right now.”

“I am not speaking to Spain right now,” Alfred started.

“He is the one to speak to,” Lovino interrupted, his arms unfolding from behind him to gesture much like Alfred had watched his people do. His English was so simple and his pronunciation was all over the place. Alfred genuinely hoped that Arthur spoke to this poor boy in a language he could easily communicate in. Normally, the language of State was French… however, using it after the earlier Revolutions and Napoleon’s first few rampages proved to be an awkward subject. However, Alfred didn’t know if Lovino even knew French, let alone well enough to communicate any better than he was now.

 With a sigh, Alfred shrugged, “Why can’t you be the one to speak to?”

“Ehm…” Lovino started and abruptly stopped for a few moments, either to think or to scour his brain for words, “I no am…” his hands came up for a couple select gestures, none of which Alfred genuinely grasped, “ _Sì?_ …No. Mmm… Spain is,” he continued, then pointed to his head, “Head. …No, top.”

“Your boss?”

He stopped again, this time looking to an older man standing not too far off. His lips and hands flurried in the same language Alfred had heard outside. It was just as unintelligible as it had been earlier. But there was something nice about seeing Lovino’s whole body come to life. His cheeks were lightly dusted. This language barrier must have been embarrassing.

“ _Sì,_ ” he answered after a prolonged period of confusing linguistics, “ _È il capo._ The boss.”

Alfred sighed again, then turned to his Commodore this time. The man carried himself better, but their general request for aid had to get off the ground _somehow_. However, before Commodore Preble could get another word out, Alfred looked back to Lovino and tried, “If Spain is with France, then why have you been fighting against them?”

It was evident by Lovino’s expression that a significant number of his words either didn’t click or didn’t immediately make any sense. Alfred had almost considered repeating himself or rephrasing it. However, in spite of Lovino’s frustrations over translations, whatever words _had_ clicked seemed to stir up more agitation.

“Antonio _è_ … Spain is no well,” the brunet responded gruffly, “And France no… never come here. Not again.”

“Then if Spain is unwell, why should I ask him?”

Lovino’s nose scrunched up and, for just a moment, he looked away.

“These pirates have been affected everyone, you know,” Alfred continued, “ _Someone_ has to stand up to them. I will, regardless. But you can, too. Without Spain.”

Once again, Lovino’s feet rolled towards his ankles. This time, though, one of his hands was gripping the hem of his jacket and his olive gaze had drifted away from Alfred entirely. Like that, his former irritation was almost forgotten. He almost looked timid, scared even. Alfred remembered that feeling from not long ago. Now it was acidic.

“ _De quoi avez-vous besoin de nous ?_ [What do you need from us?]”

Within a half hour of meeting Lovino, Alfred not only discovered that Lovino’s French pronunciation was significantly better than his English, but that the older nation was most likely fluent. How could have actually escaped learning the lingua franca? Would it have been possible to completely avoid one of Antonio’s best friends’ native tongues for centuries? Even doubting this fact once felt foolish, especially after Lovino effortlessly transitioned into rather diplomatic French.

However, even setting aside that blunder, the first thing Alfred genuinely noticed after Lovino transitioned was the near mischievous glint in the teen’s olive eyes and the smirk pulling at his lips. It was prideful and triumphant. If Alfred wasn’t feeling so embarrassed, he probably would’ve been able to enjoy the sight of his new ally’s tiny victory.


End file.
